Chapter 2 - The Web of Sacrifice
The legal documents scattered across my kitchen table told a horrifying, calculated story. Peter had deliberately engaged one of the most aggressive divorce attorneys in the city, instructing him to structure our separation in a way that seemed utterly cold-hearted on the surface, but legally barricaded me from every ounce of his catastrophic debt. He had relinquished his rights to our family home, transferred our remaining liquid savings into an irrevocable trust for my medical treatments, and signed over his life insurance policy directly to Rebecca and Simon. In doing so, he left himself completely penniless, exposed to legal liabilities, and legally severed from my life.
""He went to a dilapidated apartment on the outskirts of the industrial district,"" Colin explained, staring down at his coffee. ""He rented a tiny, third-floor walk-up with barely enough heating. I went there twice a week, Lydia. I begged him to let me tell Rebecca. I told him our kids deserved to know that their father wasn't an absolute monster. But he made me swear on my own daughter's life that I wouldn't breathe a word until you were declared cancer-free. He said a single crack in the facade would bring you rushing to his side, and your immune system couldn't take the stress. He said, 'If Lydia dies because she tried to save me, I’ll die twice.'""
Tears fell hot and fast down my cheeks, soaking the collar of my blouse. The rage that had sustained me through the darkest days of nausea, through the days when my hair fell out in clumps, through the terrifying nights in the emergency room with neutropenic fever—that rage had been built entirely on a foundation of deliberate lies. When I was cursing his name, he was sitting alone in a freezing apartment, coughing through his own terminal pain, watching the calendar turn one day at a time just hoping I would survive.
""How could he think this was the right choice?"" I sobbed, my hands clutching the legal papers so hard the corners tore. ""Did he think I wanted to survive like this? In an empty house, believing the man I loved was a coward? To hate him for a whole year while he suffered alone?""
""Peter knew you better than anyone, Lydia,"" Colin replied gently, reaching out to rest his hand over my trembling fingers. ""He knew that if you had to choose between his comfort and your own life, you would have chosen him without a second thought. You would have depleted the trust to buy him another month of palliative care. He wouldn't let you make that trade. He said his time was already written in stone, but yours was still being decided. He took all the blame, all the hatred, and carried it on his back so you wouldn't have to carry his casket while fighting for your own breath.""
I stood up abruptly, knocking my chair backward onto the hardwood floor. ""Where is he right now, Colin? Take me to him! Is he in that apartment? Why didn't he come here himself? Why did he send you with this damn box?""
May you like
Colin didn't stand up. He kept his eyes cast downward, his broad shoulders trembling. The silence that stretched between us was suffocating, heavy with an agonizing dread that chilled me to the bone. ""Colin, answer me! Where is my husband?""
""Lydia... Peter isn't in that apartment anymore,"" Colin whispered, his voice cracking entirely. ""Three weeks ago, his condition deteriorated rapidly. His liver failed. He was admitted to St. Jude’s Hospice on the south side under an assumed alias so none of our mutual friends would trace him. He slipped into a semi-conscious state five days ago. The only reason I came today is because your doctor called Rebecca yesterday with your clear scan, and Colin called me immediately. Peter told me: 'The minute she gets the all-clear, give her the box. Not a day sooner, not a day later.' Lydia, he's barely holding on. If we don't go right now, you won't get to say goodbye.""
